


Future

by Celine_Lister



Series: Love In The Time Of Corona [7]
Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-26 16:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celine_Lister/pseuds/Celine_Lister
Summary: The Ann(e)s look toward the future - it’s been a long time since Quarantine...A series of one-shots of our favorite wives in the future of their marriage.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Series: Love In The Time Of Corona [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700641
Comments: 32
Kudos: 83





	1. Choosing A Memory

“I’m not sick,” Anne rasped, even as her wife pushed her back into bed. “Adney-”

“Absolutely not,” Ann said firmly as she wrapped Anne firmly in sheets and blankets. “You’re probably running a fever, your nose won’t stop dripping, and you spent half the night hacking away.”

“Did not,” Anne grumbled before her darling wife shoved a thermometer between her lips.

“Dearest, I’ve shared a bed with you for what? Four years now? Nearly five? I know your snores and your coughs, love.” Ann pulled out the thermometer and shook her head. “Bed. I’m serious.”

“Can I have my book?” Anne wiggled the blankets loose. “Journal too, darling.”

“No.” 

Turning on her heel, Ann disappeared into their closet. Anne sat up forcefully in bed, brow furrowed.

“What d’you mean ‘no?’”

“What I said,” Ann called; Anne could hear the telltale sound of her dressing in the other room. Anne tried to climb out of bed, but her head pounded. She fell back into the pillows with a groan. “Don’t even try it, Pony. I’ve got to run to the school, and I’ll be back around twelve-thirty.” Ann reappeared, as stunning and brilliant as the day of their wedding. “If I hear you’re out of this bed before then, you’re in big trouble.”

Anne caught her wife’s wrist as she moved to the door.

“And what?” Anne’s dry throat only augmented her attempt at a husky drawl. “You’ll have me over your-” 

Then, of course, she broke out into a fit of coughing. Ann chuckled, shook her head, and kissed Anne’s clammy forehead. 

With her wife gone, Anne disintegrated into the bed. She really did feel unwell. It had been ages since she’d had a cold, and she had forgotten just how much they debilitated her. Her body ached, and not even in the satisfying way that hard work brought. Her head spun, and she had a lump in her throat. Swallowing was painful. With a groan, she curled herself into a tight ball and fell asleep.

Bleary-eyed, Anne blinked awake several hours later. The hazy outline of her clock read just past noon. Even though her head still pounded, Anne found herself smiling weakly. Not long until Ann would be home again soon.

Four years of marriage, and Ann still filled her with a singular kind of joy. A peaceful sort of excitement - no nerves or stress, just warmth and the tender touch of her hand in Anne’s. The sun slanted into their bedroom by this hour, and Anne admired the way it caught her rings. Scratched and dented now, the twin engagement and wedding rings were her prized possession. Even in the fog of her sickness, Anne felt a rush remembering their trip to Paris, Ann’s proposal, the floor and the wall and the bed. Anne shivered. Maybe she could shake this thing and pull her wife into bed when she got home.

After all, Anne mused, a good orgasm was supposed to help clear congestion, wasn’t it? Ann wouldn’t be home for fifteen minutes, and now that Anne had the idea… she couldn’t much shake it. Closing her eyes, Anne rolled onto her back. 

Choosing a memory was a rare treat. Usually, Anne had the pleasure of holding her wife in her arms when she felt  _ on the amoroso _ . It had been weeks since Anne had the diminished pleasure of her own hand between her legs. She tried to avoid it, but no couple had perfect synchronicity with these things. Of course, Ann was infinitely better, in every way. Still, there was a freshness to it, a little change of pace. Anne conjured the slope of her wife’s ass a few nights ago, the way her hips had felt in Anne’s hands, the slickness of their bodies that night in the chaumiere. 

Oh, yes, Anne thought as her hand slipped into her boxers, this will work nicely.

_ Ann had been a maddening tease that evening. They’d been out to dinner - Ann had worn that dress - she’d traced her hand over Anne’s thigh as they drove home. It had made Anne wild. She’d been nearly feral by the time they got to Shibden, driving directly to the hut and tearing her wife’s clothes from her before the door even closed.  _

Slow circles over her center. Anne sniffed a gob of mucus back in her throat and spread her hips a bit further. 

_ The taste of Ann on her tongue, the warmth of her skin, the intoxicating tenor of her breathless cries.  _

Yes, yes, Anne thought impatiently as she fast-forwarded the evening in her mind.

_ Ann slipping the strap between her lips, squeezing Anne’s ass as she took her deeper.  _

_ Ann flipping onto her back, looking over her shoulder, playfully wiggling her ass in the air. _

_ Ann saying the filthiest things in that perfect, breathless, daring way of hers. _

Fire burned between Anne’s legs at the memory; she strummed her clit more harshly. She was so, so close.

_ The delicious rhythm of their bodies moving together, underscored by Ann’s increasingly loud moans. The crisp slap of Anne’s palm against her ass. The rosy blush that started to spread across Ann’s back, contrasting so perfectly with the whiteness of her knuckles.  _

With a gasp, Anne curled upward as her release washed over her. She fell back into the pillows with a sigh, wiping snot from under her nose with the back of her hand. Perhaps, she thought ruefully, it was better that Ann hadn’t been around to see that. Still, her headache was almost entirely gone. She felt all-around invigorated. She’d have to remember this the next time one of them was under the weather. 

Her eyes flicked to the clock once more. 12:40. Ann still not back. Suddenly, Anne’s good mood ebbed. She should be back by now. Where the hell was she? Anne checked her phone - nothing from Ann, but several messages from Washington. Her head clear and adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Anne blew her nose, washed her hands, dressed, and stomped out into the late summer day.

They were preparing for the new term - Anne, her wife, and the estate. Marian was off doing - well, whatever Marian usually did. Father was getting harder of hearing, but he was still mobile. Aunt Anne seemed younger than ever. Ann’s presence in the house had brought her to life. Twisting her wedding ring absently as she trotted up to Washington’s truck, she realized Ann had done much the same thing for her. 

Fifteen minutes later, Anne felt a possessive hand tug on the back of her shirt.

“She’s got to be going, Mr. Washington,” her wife said primly. “Have a lovely day.”

“But I -” Not for the first time, Anne marveled at the strength of her wife’s small hands. “Adney, I wasn’t done with him.”

“Yes, you were,” Ann said forcefully. “You’re sick, and you’re meant to be in bed.”

“I am  _ not _ sick,” Anne said, pulling her wife into a secluded spot near the back door; Ann tried to pout, but she draped her arms around Anne’s neck nonetheless. “I’m feeling much better.”

“I gave you instructions, Pony.”

“I stayed in bed until 12:30, as instructed.” Anne kissed her pouting lips. “You can’t be cross with me.”

“Maybe I can,” Ann teased, leaning in for another kiss. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Anne caught her lips again, pressing her wife into the stone.

“I have big news.” Anne kissed the side of her wife’s neck, running her hands along the curves of her hips. “It’s important, Pony.”

“I’m sure it is,” Anne husked, fitting her thigh between Ann’s.

“Listen,” Ann giggled, tugging slightly on Anne’s hair. “Pony, really!”

“You’re so sexy,” Anne whispered in her ear. “I touched myself while you were gone.”

Ann pulled her hair again, forcing Anne to straighten and meet her gaze. Ann’s eyes were wide, her lips parted. A crooked smile curved across Anne’s face as she kissed her wife again, a little more deeply this time. She was already calculating the risk of being caught against the desperation already creeping into her fingertips, when Ann pulled away.

“I have to tell you something,” she said, breathless. “It’s important.”

“Can’t it wait?” Anne slipped a hand under Ann’s shirt.

“No,” her wife said firmly, one hand pressing flatly against Anne’s sternum. “There’s a - there’s this girl. She’s - uh, she’s, well, she’s young and she’s - her mum works at the school. She’s made up her mind, and she - well, she knows me - knows us! She’s going to uni in the fall, and she - it’s all set up, you know, but the - well, it’s just she - she’s pregnant.”

Anne held her breath. They’d set up that nursery a year ago, gone through heartbreak and false starts and dead ends. They avoided the topic most days, keeping the door closed and their hearts guarded. Ann cupped her cheek gently, smiling softly.

“She wants to meet us.”


	2. My Favorite Ladies

Was it possible to feel tired in one’s _bones_? Ann had felt this kind of exhaustion before, but only at the lowest points of her depression. Not this kind of tiredness that stemmed from - shocking as it may seem - physical labor. 

“Here we are, darling,” she cooed, gently tipping Sam’s head back and washing her tiny scalp. “That’s a good girl, my love.”

Only a few months, and Ann was already an expert at this. Bath time was easily her favorite - a private moment between Mummy and daughter. The rest of the family cleared away, only occasional intrusions from her wife, who still got all flustered and nervous around her own daughter. Oh, she was excellent at diaper-changing and feeding and even midnight soothing, but Anne still treated Sam like a porcelain figurine. 

Ann chuckled to herself, remembering the way Anne had run about the house in the week before the delivery. Drill in hand, hair wild, eyes aflame, Anne had raced across every inch of Shibden, mending and smoothing and baby-proofing. The squeaky stair - magically silent. The rough edge along the railing - softer than butter. Each and every outlet - covered. One morning, three days before Sam was born, Ann had caught her wife in the hallway outside their room.

“Pony,” she’d said, sharply but not unkindly. Anne had her back to her, up high on the step ladder, sanding something on the ceiling. She didn’t turn around. Ann cleared her throat. “Pony?”

“What?” Anne paused for an instant, her voice sounding dazed. 

“Come down here.”

“Busy.”

“Pony,” Ann drawled, closing the distance and wrapping her hand around her wife’s firm calf. “You do know you’re overdoing it just a bit, don’t you?”

“You want our child to get a sliver, do you?” Anne snapped.

Ann let the comment roll right past her; by now, she was certainly used to Anne’s sharp tongue and knew better than to take it personally. She trailed her hand up higher, along the ticklish back of Anne’s thigh. 

“From the ceiling?”

Anne froze, then dropped her arms to her sides. She looked deflated as she climbed down the steps and pulled Ann into a tight hug.

“I’m an idiot.”

Ann just squeezed her tighter and kissed her cheek.

“You’re a mum.”

Even the memory now brought a warmth to Ann’s chest, and she kissed her daughter’s soapy head. Sam gurgled happily, and Ann lifted her out of the water. Wrapping her in a perfectly fluffy towel, Ann admired her daughter’s wide blue eyes, her wisps of blonde hair, the hint of a scowl along her eyebrows. She was a perfect mixture of Ann and Anne, even if they didn’t share DNA. It didn’t matter; Ann knew it didn’t matter. This wonderful creature was her baby just as surely as Anne was her wife, as Shibden was their home, as the stars hung in the Halifax sky. 

“My favorite ladies,” Anne purred as Ann snuck into their bedroom. Sam was already starting to doze in her arms, and Ann hoped to slip her into her bassinet without much fuss. “Doesn’t Mumma get a turn?”

“She’s almost -”

Then, of course, Sam shrieked. Of course. Ann sighed in defeat, passing the wiggling, screaming bundle to her wife. Maybe it’s as something about Anne’s cologne, her pheromones, her sheer presence in the room - Sam could always tell. She rarely went to sleep without passing an hour or two in Anne’s arms, alternating between fussing and beaming. Ann was almost jealous of this ritual, even though she knew she’d _just_ had the baby all to herself. 

This was the most at-ease Anne got with Sam: Anne in her boxers and t-shirt, Sam in her tiny little onesie, bouncing around the room and begging for some quiet. Ann kissed her wife’s temple and padded into the closet. Being home all day with the family was blissful. Maddening. Wonderful. Excruciating. Indescribably - special. Ann stretched her arms above her head and slipped into the shower.

She longed for the limitless hours before motherhood - the long showers, the indulgent baths, the hours of lovemaking alone in their bedroom. Now, they were lucky to get ten minutes to shower and five minutes for sex. On the nights they weren’t passed out before dark, that is. 

Besides, Ann thought as she hurriedly lathered her hair. Anne could handle Sam alone for hours; there wasn’t a real reason for her to rush right now. Mostly, Ann was greedy. She wanted every moment of Sam’s life catalogued, every laugh and frown and curl of tiny fingers. Taking a luxurious bath might be nice, but it was nothing compared to being with her family. 

“How is she?” Ann whispered when she returned, toweling her wet hair before pulling on a threadbare t-shirt. 

“Gorgeous,” Anne said softly, her left arm crooked underneath Sam, her right index finger caught in her tiny clutches. Ann climbed into bed next to them, perching on her knees and slipping her hand along Anne’s shoulders. Anne looked up at her, eyes widening; her tongue ran along her bottom lip. “Almost as gorgeous as her mum.”

Ann rolled her eyes and kissed the crown of her wife’s head before snuggling into bed next to her. Gingerly, Anne tried to stand up, but Sam started to cry once more. Sighing, Anne got to her feet and resumed her bouncing. Ann giggled at her.

“What?”

“You’re a handsome mum,” Ann said appreciatively. “And so impatient.”

“Impatient?” Anne barked, which only made the baby cry louder; she rolled her eyes and spoke in a soothing tone. “How am _I_ impatient?”

“You always think she’ll go to sleep right away, when you know she won’t.” 

Ann pulled out her sketchbook and pencil, studying her wife and child. 

“No, the thing is she _does_ ,” Anne urged, her voice barely above a whisper as Sam’s cries turned to gurgles. “She just wakes back up.”

“Exactly,” Ann laughed. “That’s what you always forget.”

Anne scoffed and turned away, dancing around the room with little Samantha in her arms. She was so beautiful like this - the crinkles around her dark eyes, the flex of her muscular arms supporting Sam, the smirk playing at her lips as she shot glances at Ann. 

“What are you doing, Mrs. Lister?”

“None of your business, Mrs. Walker.”

Anne hummed and made her slow, nerve-wracking path to the bassinet. Gently, Anne lowered the baby and backed away, as if from a live bomb. Ann counted to ten in her mind, and when there was still silence at the end, she knew they’d done it. Sam was a good sleeper once she got in her bed; they probably had four hours until she woke up again. Anne vaulted into bed and kissed Ann in triumph. They giggled as they fell into the sheets together. 

“How was your day?” Anne asked, even though they’d spent the entire day together. They were immensely grateful that Sam happened to be an early summer baby, so they could spend her first few months without worrying about work. 

“Alright, I guess,” Ann whispered, snuggling closer and slinging one leg over Anne’s hip; she relished the feeling of her wife’s strong arms around her, those intelligent brown eyes studying her. “I spent most of my time with the most beautiful girl.”

Anne smiled broadly. 

“You were there, too, of course, darling.”

Anne laughed and pulled her closer, stealing Ann’s breath with a punishing kiss. In an instant, Ann was jelly in her arms, rolling onto her back and opening her mouth. Anne’s knee fit perfectly between her legs; her broad back was meant to be wrapped in Ann’s slender arms. 

“You’re hot,” Anne husked in her ear. A thrill raced down Ann’s spine - it had been _ages_. “Can we -”

They’d never actually had sex with the baby in the room - a fair amount of rushed bathroom fumbles and blackmailing Marian into babysitting had served them well enough so far. Ann longed to spend hours in bed with her wife, wrapped up and breathless and sweaty. From the way Anne’s hands moved across her body, Ann knew she felt the same way. 

“Yes,” Ann breathed, arching up into Anne’s touch. 

“I love you, Adney,” Anne whispered in her ear, one strong hand sliding Ann’s nightshirt up to her hip. “You’re perfect.”

Of course, it had to be this moment that a sharp knock sounded against the door. Sam started crying immediately. Ann dashed to the baby, and Anne to the door. Sam quieted as soon as Ann picked her up, which never failed to thrill this new mum. She heard her wife groan and spun around to find Marian in the doorway.

“ _Your_ driver, Anne!” 

“He’s _your_ bloody boyfriend,” Anne shot back, dropping into the faded armchair in the corner. Even in her boxers and t-shirt, Anne could command a room. Ann longed for just a bit of privacy, just a few moments; it never took long. “You’ve woken the baby, you know.”

“Hello, Sammy,” Marian cooed, before wheeling on her sister. “Can’t you call him into work this weekend or something?”

“No,” Anne said flatly, crossing her legs in that commanding way of hers; Ann turned around to avoid drooling. “I’ve already allocated the budget for this month, and it does not include overtime for the toy boy.”

“He’s not -” Marian stomped her foot. “Little Ann! Can you help me with her?”

“I don’t know, Marian,” Ann said playfully; “you did just interrupt us.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Marian groaned, falling backward onto their bed. The wives exchanged a look, and Marian shot to her feet. “Oh! Is that - were you - oh, _God._ ” 

“What’s the problem?” Ann asked as she passed Sam to her wife. 

“Well, it’s just - Thomas has these plans, apparently, that - well, they involve Scotland and camping and - and - and his ex-girlfriend!”

“Oh, no,” Anne murmured, a smug grin on her lips. Ann tugged gently on her hair. 

“I don’t think - I mean, there’s nothing going on between them, but -” Marian shook her head. “I’d just rather he not go.”

“Have you told him that?” Ann asked gently.

“Well, no,” Marian said sheepishly. “I don’t want him to think -”

“Sister,” Anne said authoritatively, rising and wrapping an arm around her wife’s waist. “He’s your boyfriend. Talk to him, instead of us. Otherwise, we will continue, with what we were doing.”

With that, their baby between them, Anne leaned forward and planted a deep, wet kiss on Ann’s lips. For a blissful moment, Ann melted into her embrace, the warmth of her wife’s kiss and the strength of her arm. Ann giggled and broke away once she heard the bedroom door slam shut. 

“Not very nice, Pony,” Ann laughed as she crawled back into bed. 

“Perhaps not.” Anne kissed Sam’s forehead and backed away from the bassinet. “She deserves it, though.”

“I guess.” Ann rolled on her side, sighing happily as Anne wrapped herself around her back. “I’m so glad I’m not straight.”

“Me too,” Anne purred, kissing her neck.

Ann wished desperately that she could muster the energy to pick up where they’d left off, but her eyelids had grown so heavy. Soft kisses peppered her neck, and Ann pulled her wife’s arms more tightly around her waist. She kissed the bony knuckles of her strong hands. 

“Pony, I -”

“I know,” Anne whispered, nuzzling her face into Ann’s neck. “I’m beat.”

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you, too.”

And that was enough, actually. Not so long ago, they’d been the type to stay up all night in each other’s arms, doing any number of dirty things. Their lustful appetite seemed like the stuff of legends, or, at least, of Tib’s jokes and Marian’s eye rolls. Ann knew her wife’s body as well as she knew her own, and certainly Anne could map Ann’s skin with her eyes closed. They’d crashed together in every way imaginable, but now they fell asleep with their clothes on. Tonight’s embrace felt like one of their most intimate - satisfied, innocent, with their daughter sleeping nearby. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> A bit of a struggle to write lately, but I appreciate y’all sticking with us.


	3. She’s Our Daughter, Pony

“She’s almost got it,” Ann said excitedly as her wife emerged from the bathroom. “You almost missed it!”

“I haven’t missed anything,” Anne said as she dropped onto the carpet across from her. “It’s too early.”

“It is not,” Ann said sharply. “Eight months, that’s what they say.”

“She turned eight months yesterday,” Anne said gently, not wanting to upset her eager little wife. “It may be a little early.”

“Nonsense,” Aunt Anne said as she entered the living room. “You were running about at seven months.”

“That’s impossible.” 

Anne held her arms out as Sam crawled slowly toward her. Aunt Anne just shrugged, but Anne didn’t miss the way she winked at Ann. With a roll of her eyes, Anne turned her attention back to her daughter. So much bigger now, Sam was practically an adult, at least in the eyes of her mums. It was bitterly cold outside, nothing to do on the estate, and the usual start-of-term doldrums; Anne was grateful for the protective warmth of her family. She looked up from Sam’s determined trek and into her wife’s soft blue eyes - Ann really had changed everything, hadn’t she?

Just a few years ago, Anne had abhorred this kind of forced family time, would’ve looked for any excuse to get out of the house. Now, she spent every free hour among these dark-wood walls, relishing the laughter and annoyance of her very eccentric brood. Before it had turned so cold, Anne used to traipse about the grounds with Sam strapped to her chest, sleeping soundly as her mother barked at the men.  _ This will all be yours one day _ , Anne used to telegraph to her,  _ got to make sure it looks nice for you.  _

“Once Antsy started walking,” Aunt Anne continued, “it was all bruises and scraped knees.”

“Was it?” Ann giggled.

“Very clumsy,” Father said, appearing from the kitchen and making his way to his recliner. “Cut her head open on a bookshelf one day. Bled like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Father,” Anne admonished, slightly embarrassed.

“Broke her arm when she was three,” he went on. “Tiny little cast - bright pink.”

“It was not!” Anne cried, over the laughter of her wife and aunt.

“Absolutely was,” Father said. “I bet I’ve got a picture somewhere.”

“Would it even be in color?” Ann joked, rising to sit in the big chair behind Anne, who swatted her playfully as she passed. “Etched on a stone tablet, maybe?”

“Probably,” Father said, with a good-natured smile. “It’s a wonder you mess around with us old folks.”

“Mostly just Pony here,” Ann said affectionately. “You two act younger than I do, most days.”

“We haven’t got a baby to raise,” Aunt Anne said. 

Anne barely heard them, preferring to tune out their silly banter, especially since it was almost always at her expense. Instead. she focused on dancing Sam around, making her laugh, holding her little hands and grinning at her tiny smile. Tiny readjusted herself in her bed, and Sam crawled toward her ancient protector. The little dog was well into her seniority now, but she hardly acted like it; in fact, she’d been just as energized by Sam’s arrival as the rest of the family. Anne had been forced to apologize to Washington for Tiny’s viscous growls the first time he’d looked in on the baby - she was fiercely protective from the start. 

Leaning back, Anne looked up at her wife perched above her. Ann was smiling, chatting with Father and Aunt, her golden hair tied up in that perfect bun and her blue eyes sparkling as always. Anne took her hand, squeezed gently, then kissed the back of it. A silent signal between them - Sam was occupied and had two (mostly) competent babysitters. Now was as good a time as any to sneak upstairs.

“Where’s Sam’s blanket?” Ann asked, feigning nonchalance. “Did we leave it upstairs, darling?”

“I think we must have,” Anne said, catching up. “Let’s go look.”

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Anne followed her wife up the stairs, trying to avoid sweeping Ann in her arms right there in the hallway. Ann looked coyly over her shoulder, that giddy smile like the first time they’d made love. A shiver raced along Anne’s spine - it had been too long.

Only a week, in truth, but that was rather a long time for them. They managed a few nights here and there, sometimes a quick meeting in the bathroom or pantry. It was difficult, with the baby, but they made it work. Honestly, the sight of Ann with their child filled Anne alternately with soft warmth and pent-up lust. 

“Come here,” Anne growled as she shut the bedroom door. 

In an instant, Ann was in her arms, legs wrapped around her waist, kissing her deeply and slowly. Anne relished the warm press of her wife’s body, the gentle slide of her lips, the erotic melody of hums passing between them. One hand slipped under Ann’s top, along her soft belly and under the thin fabric of her bra.

“You’re hot,” Anne whispered, turning her lips to the pale column of her wife’s neck. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

“Do you think -” Ann was breathless, interrupting herself with a soft moan as Anne teased her nipple. “Oh, Pony.”

“Yes, my darling,” Anne purred, rolling her hips into her wife. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

Clumsily, Anne set her wife down, dropped to her knees, wrenched open Ann’s jeans. She was on fire, pressing her lips to the pale skin just above Ann’s panties. Ann threaded her fingers through Anne’s hair, still panting as she spoke.

“But, Pony, what if -”

“We’ll be quiet,” Anne soothed. She caught the elastic of Ann’s panties between her teeth and snapped them playfully against her skin. “Don’t worry.”

“Anne,” her wife said a bit more firmly; Anne looked up at her. “What if Sam takes a step while we’re up here?”

With her hands on her wife’s hips and her lips so very close to what she wanted to taste, Anne hung her head and laughed. Ann scratched the back of her wife’s head, and their giggles turned into a satisfied sort of sigh. 

“Are you upset with me?” Ann asked softly.

“No,” Anne answered honestly. She kissed her wife’s stomach once more before rising to her feet. “You’re perfect.”

“Am I?” Ann draped her arms around Anne’s neck and kissed her softly. “I’m just afraid I’ll be distracted.”

“You don’t have to hurt my feelings,” Anne teased as she fastened Ann’s trousers.

“What?”

“I’d like to think,” Anne said lowly, leaning in until her lips nearly brushed Ann’s, “that a kiss from me would take your mind off everything entirely.”

For a moment, Anne thought her wife would kiss her. She looked so conflicted, so close to diving over the edge and into bed. Then she smiled.

“She’s our daughter, Pony.”

Anne smiled, too, and kissed her wife slowly. Ann melted into her, and for a long, blissful moment, they were the only people on earth. Then Sam’s face appeared in her mind, and Anne pulled away. She wanted to see their daughter walk just as much as Ann did. What if they’d already missed it?

“Let’s go.”

They raced down the stairs again, rushing into the living room hand-in-hand. Father had fallen asleep, and Aunt Anne was knitting. Sam looked up at the sight of her mums,and she staggered slowly to her feet. Anne and Ann froze where they stood; Anne felt her heart catch in her throat. Sam took a single, clumsy step, then dropped back on her behind. In an instant, both of them descended on her, with Anne’s long arms reaching her first and wrapping her up safely. 

“That’s a very good girl,” Ann cooed and rubbed between Sam’s shoulder blades. “What a smart girl.”

“Oh, my darling,” Anne said, fighting back to tears, unsure if she was speaking to her daughter or her wife. “Oh, I love you so much. I love you so, so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More than a few mistakes posting that last one, eh? Shout-out to one very astute reader who clued me in that I’d posted the chapter twice 😬 To make up for it, here’s a shorty I already had finished. 
> 
> Please don’t tell me facts about babies. I simply don’t know anything. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


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